I'm not naming any names, but the guilty party involved knows this is her doing, planting the idea of Varric as a LI in my head. I've always loved Hawke and Varric's friendship. It's one of the strongest bonds, most constant loving relationships we get to actually see play out in the DA universe. What's not to admire? Varric is awesome: besides being a kick-ass marksman, he's funny, intelligent, kind, just, loyal, and a gifted storyteller. It's too bad he isn't a romance option, but I am able to live with that because I get to bring him around my adventures in game without too much emotional drama...But THEEEN...Someone asked "What if?" and that and some illustrations of Varric from the "Until We Sleep" comic got me thinking about this story. And here it is. Of course it is kinda AU, because V. isn't a romanceable character and in canon he already has a thing going on with Bianca Davri (which is bittersweet but so consistent with that romantic, idealistic, big softie at heart side of his he tries to hide)...Not all great loves need to be romantic or sexual...but in the land of crackfiction...I mean, fanfiction, all ships sail freely...
Chapter 1
When did it begin?
Hawke joined the laughter around her self-consciously, a beat too late, jolted from her thoughts as she contemplated the man who was her closest friend, partner in crime, and business associate.
No. No. No, she chastised herself sternly, hiding behind another tankard of ale.
It had to be a whim, another caprice…She was forever fancying someone or another.
First it had been Anders, with that openly flirtatious manner of his that had prompted all kinds of devious thoughts in her head. She had clung to some very salacious fantasies even after Anders had disclosed the existence of Justice ("Oh, a Threesome!" she, for once, had only thought to herself). Then she'd believed herself hopelessly taken with Fenris. He'd occupied her thoughts almost obsessively until she realized how unsuited they were for each other: he was terribly moody and for good reason. His wounds ran deep and he was in no condition to engage in her mind games. For a very brief period, she had even contemplated a tryst with Isabela, the pirate's openness to enjoying both sexes igniting a burning curiosity that consumed her day after day…for a short period of time. She'd given up on pursuing that option when she realized that Isabela appeared more interested in Aveline's generous attributes than hers. Then there was that scrumptious Templar, Knight-Horror Meredith Ballbuster's second-in-command, Cullen. Her eyes would often trail after him anytime her investigations into something or another involved Templar business and forced them to relay information to each other. He had a mix of characteristics that drove her practically wild: a strong, commanding presence, initiative and determination along with a shyness and reticence that made him deliciously irresistible. At one point, she had even let her thoughts wander to the Qunari leader, the Arishok, whose probing, intense stares she had mentally ascribed all sorts of seductive properties to.
"Who is the poor victim this time?" Varric would grimace anytime he sensed a declaration of lust bubbling up from her.
He was the only one she made privy to her secret infatuations. He tended to be a good listener…when he wasn't cackling at her imaginary paramours, that was.
Which makes my predicament all that more…predicament-y, she realized sheepishly.
She decided she just had to hold tight until that flightiness passed—just as all the others had.
She took a frothy sip of freshly poured ale and licked her lips pensively, lost in trying to fetter out some sensible thoughts. As she raised her eyes to Varric, across the table, she realized with a jolt that those brown eyes were examining her shrewdly.
It's just Varric, she told herself, combating a flush of warmth climbing up her neck. Good old Varric! she reasoned with herself. Just my reliable buddy, nothing-new-to-see-here-Varric! she insisted.
"You all right?" Anders leaned closer to her. "You look…a bit distraught," he whispered.
"You do know how to charm a woman, Anders," she grumbled. "Let me enjoy my ale in peace. I certainly deserve it after that rain of assassins from the rooftops at the market square."
"As if it wasn't enough to go around looking over our shoulders, now we have to look up, too," Aveline complained.
"I never thought I'd complain about it raining men," Isabela sighed as her hands cupped her tankard. "You got hit pretty hard by that one assassin wielding a buckler, Aveline."
Aveline nodded.
"Scoundrel bashed me right in the shoulder. It's aching quite a bit now," she winced, rubbing her upper arm.
"I've got some good salve for that," Anders offered.
"Ooh, and I can help you rub it on," Isabela offered with ill-concealed eagerness.
Hawke caught Bethany tilting her head towards Fenris.
"And how about you? You must have expended a lot of energy fighting tonight. It almost seemed like you were all over the battleground anytime I looked."
"I am fine," the elf retorted curtly.
Unlike me, Bethany does not bestow her affections indiscriminately, Hawke noted.
Her sister had been trying to extend an olive branch to the brooding elf ever since the night they'd met. She suspected Bethany's motivations were not as altruistic as she pretended them to be. She pressed her lips together thinking of all the heartache her sister was setting herself up for when her eyes caught the dwarf's face as he spoke to their barmaid.
It is going to be fine, she thought hopefully.
She stared at him as he spoke, a familiar smirk emerging on his lips.
It's not like we're each other's type. Her eyes traced his profile seeking confirmation, taking in the wide, broken nose she had gazed upon thousands of times, the shadow of stubble growing on his cheeks, and the small golden hoop dangling charmingly from his earlobe. He's more…rough, she concluded, watching his thick brows furrowing as he listened to the barmaid tell him something, a few loose wisps of gingery hair framing his face. No, she gulped, her eyes following the chain hanging around his neck, his embroidered jacket undone in front, revealing a well-defined chest beneath coarse reddish hair.
"Hawke," he turned to her suddenly.
Sweet Andraste, was I thinking out loud again? She panicked, gripping the tankard's handle.
"We've got trouble," he told her in that unmistakable voice that was at once gravelly, deep and melodious.
All heads turned to her.
"What's new?" she frowned.
"Apparently our new friends' friends didn't like that we survived their onslaught and are combing the streets of Lowtown for us. I just got word they're heading this way next."
"We need to give the impression that we've been closed for a while, otherwise they might want to search the premises," the barkeep, Hemming, explained nervously. "I can't afford to be shut down for repairs again so soon…" he stated pointedly, glowering at Hawke.
"I am deeply, deeply hurt. What's a few gold pieces worth of damage when lives were saved?" she sulked.
"…Says the person who didn't have to pay any gold for these repairs…" Varric muttered, tossing coin to settle their tab over the table.
"Should we sneak out the back door?" Bethany wondered, pushing her seat in.
"The streets aren't safe—won't be for a while. It's best you batter down here for the night," Varric explained. "Hemming—any rooms available?"
"You are in luck," the man announced, quickly leafing through his ledger as the barmaids locked the door and began to extinguish the candles. As usual, their group was closing the place down. "One bedroom: two double beds."
"Do we get a discount?" Varric crossed his arms: a tell that revealed he was bracing himself to negotiate.
"Do I get a thank you? We are full to the gills. You're lucky I had a no-show," Hemming huffed.
"Fine, you greedy bastard, we'll have to take it."
"Two double beds won't fit everyone," Bethany pointed out as they made their way quickly towards the stairs.
"Let's see," Anders glanced at their raggedy group. "Fenris and Aveline in one bed…I don't mind sharing with you, Bethany." He raised a suggestive eyebrow at her.
Bethany cast her sister a flustered look.
"Actually, Bethany can have the bed to herself: Aveline can share my bed tonight," Isabela suggested oh-so-helpfully.
Aveline cleared her throat.
"Bethany and I can share a bed and Fenris and Anders can share the other."
Anders and Fenris glared at each other with expressions of disdain.
"I won't sleep beside a mage."
"Then stay wide awake. See what I care," Anders declared flippantly.
"Fenris, you can sleep in my bed," Isabela proposed suggestively.
"I can sleep on the floor," Fenris quickly amended.
"Hawke—the usual?" Varric asked her.
She had been dreading the question.
"Sure!" she shrugged, struggling to convey a casual indifference.
How often had she collapsed in Varric's room, both of them toppling over the covers, falling into unconsciousness after their missions? First he let her stay with him out of pity: she hated her uncle's shabby home. It wasn't that she was finicky about the squalid accommodations—that did not bother her as much as the constant fighting between Gamlen and Leandra. Hardly a night went by without there being accusations flung, tears and wailing, and ugly threats dispensed. Then it just became a habit: she was either too drunk or too tired after missions to drag her sorry ass home.
She'd never thought twice about it before, often unceremoniously stripping down to her stockings and tunic before face planting over his bed. Sometimes they lay beside each other, backs touching, just rehashing events, crafting theories, or sharing stories. Varric was easy to talk to and even easier to listen to. She found his presence and voice soothing, his words reassuring. She'd often been lulled to sleep while he told her about Kirkwall, the unsuspected backstories of people they knew, the mysterious practices and rituals of the Dwarven Merchant Guild…
They were so close Anders had teased them before they all departed on a mission once.
"Oh, look! Here are mom and dad," he announced.
"Have you been cheating on me?" Varric asked her, taking Anders' ribbing in stride. "This one's definitely not mine," he pointed at the impertinent mage.
"He's just something the cat brought in," she'd grinned tartly.
As she followed Varric down the hallway that night, Isabela leaned out of her bedroom doorway:
"Behave in there, you two." She winked, teasing them as usual.
"Don't worry, we won't do anything you wouldn't do," Varric provoked.
Hawke's heart skipped a beat at the thought of Varric and she making as much noise as Isabela was wont to do anytime she had company...
That was not an image she needed in her head right then.